Honey, don't.

So, one of the myriad things you may not know about me is that I live in an older house.  It was built in 1930.  As such, it's Quirky (note the capital Q).  And I'm learning that there's a difference in Built in 1970s Quirky and Built 1930s Quirky.  

Now, as a kid, I was never tasked with some of the major repair work or upkeep because my father was proficient, my mother was proficient and I was inept.  That's just the state of things. I could handle a broom, but not a paint brush.  A bucket of soapy water, but not a hammer.  It's fine.  It's fine.

Now that I'm all grown up, I'm having to learn some skills.

I was having a conversation with a colleague at work the other day.  He had assisted a mutual friend in installing a tile backsplash in her kitchen and I was asking him questions - intelligent ones about backer board and what not.  I like to think he was impressed.  I explained that Matt had tiled our master bath, while I ran and got things.  I explained that I was not gifted in using tools, measuring, or anything that required spatial reasoning skills.

I remember reading a David Sedaris piece where his partner basically said what David was good at was naming stuffed animals.  I totally get that.

But, I was explaining to this colleague that I was a self-sufficient woman.  I told him that while Matt was on business once, I wet vacced the flooded basement out for an entire day.  True story...the Nashville Flood of 2010, look it up.  I'm also good at disposing of dead animals.   I can open my own jars.  I'm not afraid of spiders, and I know to call 911 if the grill appears to be shooting flame out of the propane tank.

Where I'm going with this is that Matt's out of town this weekend, and yesterday, as I was getting ready for work, I heard this pop/crash noise.  A light bulb in the fixture had exploded and shattered.

Well, I had an 8AM training class, so I turned off the light, stepped around the glass and went to work.

This morning, I got the threaded, shardy bit of leftover bulb and unscrewed it from the socket.  I also swept up the glass.  Because, no I can't tile a backsplash, but I can unscrew a lightbulb.  No, I didn't use a potato.  I used rubber handled needle nosed pliers.  And I'm fine.

I'm kind of thinking I might hit up Home Depot this morning, buy a small can of paint and start redoing some of the trim around doors and baseboards - it's looking a little dinged and flaked-off.

Alternately, I could stop kidding myself, get a bucket of soapy water and wipe down all the baseboards, which really need it.

Regardless, in an hour I'm leaving to get my hair done, then tonight, I'm going out with friends for dinner and drinks.  Well dinner for me - I'm driving, so drinks for them.

That's kinda got me stoked.  What woman doesn't like to get pretty hair then take it out for a spin and get appreciated.

Because my dead animal disposal skills are only going to take me so far.  It's my nice rack that's going to seal the deal.  And by that, I mean the rack I bought at the Container Store that holds all our sandwich bags, parchment paper, tin foil, etc.

You should see how I mounted my rack...